i've been thinking a lot about what is worthy to write about. i mean in the sense of what is this i am sharing? is it a commentary on our culture? is it a diary? is it well written? is it worth the time? is it worth all 6, count 'em 6 followers time? for me it is. so all of the above describes it, except for maybe the well written. but i'm working on that, i guess that's what this blog is, practice. my best friend regaled me with what my overachiever odd aunt said to her in class for her masters degree- "this isn't a dress rehearsal, this is your life". good advice. but i guess there really isn't a whole helluvalot of practice in life. how are you supposed to practice for marriage? by shacking up and sharing bills and domestic duties, as well as the minutae of the daily dread, then add a mortgage, maybe kids and a lil' pinch of good old fashioned resentment now and then and NOBODY would marry after that type of practice. how are you supposed to practice for an illness? you don't, you go along your path and don't think about it until it happens. practice is on life's stage, without good lighting and an orchestra.
my husband and i are revisiting the show breaking bad. i loved it the first go around, although never having had cable i watched it intermittentantly at friends or rented it. i missed entire seasons, but still loved it. my husband and i watched the shows last episode at mayo clinic, we hadn't seen any of the final season but still loved it.
breaking bad was good because of many things: the story; the writing; the non-linear telling of that story; the acting; the editing; jesse, poor jesse.
but a standout for me on this my second go around is the cancer diagnosis of walter white and his actions as a result of his stage 3b lung cancer diagnosis. you see i get walter white. i get walter white because we both have cancer AND we both had the same surgery on our lung. i know this because in season 2 he is in the shower and has the same giant scar as me. my husband and i shared a knowing glance when we saw the scar. i've tried to find a picture of what a wedge thoracotomy scar looks like to share, but none are like mine and walter white's. so close your eyes and picture a 7" nike swoosh on flesh. a 7" swoosh on your body changes you. not only physically but mentally and emotionally and psychically. jesse asks walter white in the pilot episode how a straight guy with a giant stick up his ass suddenly breaks bad? and walter white answers that he's awake.
well my husband and i woke up the saturday after thanksgiving and found ourselves at a christmas tree farm along with a zillion other christmas consumers. first we walked the rows of douglas firs in the mud, helping my mom and step dad try to find a tree, it was crazy. the prices seemed outlandish, even a midget charlie brown tree was $85.
$85 motherfuckin' dollars. they opted not to buy. i went to the barn where garland was sold and they had one bundle left. the guy asks me how much i wanted and i said 20-25', he said well this is 25 feet right here, and it's the last of the garland but it's $2/foot, so $50 bucks. my husband didn't bat an eye, i think he was just trying to make me happy, so he hands me the credit card and i take the garland into santa's workshop where the transactions take place. there were 50 kids running about and 50 adults ahead of me in line. i waited for 5 minutes and the line never moved. so i walked out with the garland in hand, placed the bundle in the back of the car like i had paid for it and we were off. wtf?
it is pretty and all, the garland with lights and ornaments adorning the trim. at first i felt guilty, and thought what type of asshole steals xmas? the grinch, of course (full disclosure, i share my birthday with theodore geisel), and the dudes who broke into my dad's house and stole all our presents under the tree when i was 14. but now i don't feel so bad, fuck it. plus it's just practice, right?
follow up: i got my LTE
published based on a previous post here on 39th st. AND a dude responded to me with his own
LTE , it's the last one.
